Heartlines
by EpsilonPax
Summary: This short story takes place directly after the episode "New Recruit"; all too aware of his still healing wounds, Bulkhead feels betrayed by the others as they embrace and welcome Smokescreen so easily into the Team. Meanwhile, the other Autobots grapple with the ghosts of a not so distant past...
1. Of Distances and Divides

**A/N: As already mentioned, this piece takes place directly after the episode "New Recruit." But I'm afraid both Bumbee and I have decided to tinker with time lines, thus, rather than follow the show perfectly, we've proceeded so that "Heartlines" takes place shortly after the events of our other piece, _De Cinere, Nova Vita._ So, dear reader, be warned, there are references a plenty that are made to the events of _De Cinere_. In fact, this short piece is rather intimately connected and reflects on much of the aftermath of _De Cinere…_ (In other words, yes, yes that really was a shameless bit of self-promotion for our other story ;) )**

**Now, enough chatter, on with the plot!**

**~~~Epsilon Pax & Bumbee  
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**Please R&R!  
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Away

For the moment, that is what he wanted, what he needed to be.

Away

The command hummed resolutely to the forefront of his mind, as he willed himself to allow that one precious need to consume the whole of his attention.

Away

He needed the distance, the space from them, all of them.

Away

That one yearning need was enough to galvanize his every step, each rattling, pain filled step as he lumbered down the hallway. His wide palms grazed against the concrete walls as he muscled himself away, just away, away from Ratchet, from Bumblebee, from Arcee, from Jack and Raf, from Optimus, from Smokescreen, from—

"_Bulk!"_

Miko's voice chased him down, followed him, would not let him get away. Resolute, Bulkhead set his jaw, did not flinch and did not look back. He could not and would not answer her, because to do so would be to return and that he could not do.

"—Seriously, once we get that leg of yours back in shape, old Smokey's gonna learn real quick who the top wreaking ball is around here!"

He urged his battered servos on, forced the over strained joints and gears to move, to carry him further, further away and into the darkness of the hallway as it stretched on, deeper into the sprawling underground complex. Soon, he knew, soon she would see, would understand what he did: by accepting the rookie so quickly, so easily into their ranks, into Team Prime, Optimus was replacing him, pushing him away and condemning him to the scrap yard.

_From a Wreaker into nothing more than a wreak…_the thought followed him down the hallway, into the gloom of the tunnels. As Bulkhead limped away, doubt and despair filled Miko, made her shoes too heavy to lift and her heart unwilling to follow him, her Bulky, her protector…_her friend._ He hadn't looked back when she called out to him, no doubt he hadn't listened to her, perhaps didn't even want to. Instead, she just watched as he walked away, watched him as she stood still and stagnant, pinned by indecisions. A sigh escaped her as she listened to him depart, heard the scrape and groan of metal as he pushed himself away from her even as the chatter of the others rose behind her.

"Bulkhead, just needs some time, he's a strong bot, he'll be fine." Arcee's firm and decided voice echoed over Miko's shoulder. Quick and light a chorus of chirps and whistles danced through the air as Bumblebee agreed, eager to support her and to reassure the newest addition to the team.

Brash and full of bravado, Smokescreen was all too willing to accept their words, their comfort. "Sure, sure. He does look like a strong bot, I'm sure he'll be fine." He turned to Ratchet, giving the senior medic a cocky smirk.

"I don't see what you're so happy about, Smokescreen, member of this team or not, you still broke protocol." Ratchet sternly intoned, he was still caught between a sense of relief that Smokescreen's plan had worked and an insistent distrust of the young Autobot that he couldn't quite dismiss entirely.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I'll do better next time, just you wait and see!" He winked at Ratchet, "I'll be sure to remember who the real leader of Team Prime is, all hail Ratchet, keeper of protocol! Leader of the Autobots!" He joked and chuckled appreciatively at his own jest, even managing a mock salute at the medic, but found a blanket of silence had descended over the others. In the face of such a pall his laughter died away, "What? I'm just kidding…"

But there was no support now, no glint of welcome in the other's optics. Arcee and Bumblebee alike had tensed, Bee crossing his arms in a cold gesture while Arcee balled her hands into tight fists. "Wow…a tough crowd I see…" Try as he might for levity, nerves and tension tightened his tone. More than a little concerned at the dark and stern sentiments that had become etched into all of their faceplates, Smokescreen risked a worried glance over to Optimus. Having heard so much about the legendary Prime, and only ever dreamed of serving under his command, the last thing that Smokescreen wanted to do was insult the Prime and jeopardize his newly attained position on the team. The young bot's spark clenched in fear when he caught sight of the pained expression that shadowed the Prime's countenance. But Optimus did not return Smokescreen's gaze, did not even seem to register it, rather his cerulean optics tracked the movements of Bulkhead, focused completely upon the green mech as he retreated from their company.

"You will get this through your thick processor right now—" Ratchet burst into Smokescreen's inner turmoil, "—it is to Optimus Prime who you answer! He is the Leader of all Autobots and it is his authority as Prime that has allowed us to endure even for this long! It is his leadership that has enabled us to counter the Decepticon efforts and—" The heat of anger tipped Ratchet's words, made him turn so viciously upon Smokescreen because unknowingly, the new recruit had touched upon a tender topic, an emotional wound that was still healing within the medic. After all that the team had recently endured, the very last thing that Ratchet ever wanted to hear again was his name in association with the phrase 'leader of the Autobots.' However, Ratchet's tirade was cut short as Optimus shifted, the movement fluid though hardly noticeable as he draped one great hand upon Ratchet's shoulder. The gesture caught the red and white bot off guard, though he was hardly opposed to Optimus' comforting grip.

"Peace, old friend," The Prime's soothing cadence rumbled, "Peace…though perhaps reckless, Smokescreen was not challenging my authority or elevating yours unnecessarily." He understood in that moment what had pricked Ratchet's temper, of the brush of fear that had touched his old friend. It was yet another reminder that the team, _his_ team, had endured all too much in the last few weeks, and all because of him. He had brought this lingering pain upon all of them, his guilt whispered to him over and over again, it rebuked him of his actions, of how he alone had forever etched this doubt into their sparks.

"Peace, old friend…" he murmured again to Ratchet, yearning not for the first time—and certainly not the last—that he could undo the damage, could bear the burden of their suffering so that they would not have to. But he knew he couldn't, just as he knew that now was not the time to fall asunder, to become divided. No, now more than ever they needed to remain together, to function as a whole, as a team…as a family.

"Optimus…I didn't mean any offense…I-I'm sorry…and to you too Ratchet…" Stunned, unsure of what wrong he had committed, what delicate subject he had stumbled over, Smokescreen was quick to try and remedy the situation, "Optimus, I—"

"—I believe what would be best for Smokescreen at the moment is if he became quickly acclimated to daily operations and functions of our base." Optimus' tremulous timber eclipsed Smokescreen's, though the young bot was anything but offended at the interruption. Rather relief trickled through him at the clear implication that the Prime had no intention of dismissing him.

"Agreed," Ratchet joined in, "It's high time we resume patrols."

"Indeed, old friend…" Optimus turned toward Bumblebee and Arcee, "It would be best if we did not allow our vigilance to wane, even for a joyous moment such as this as we welcome a new member into our fold," His optics flickered over to Arcee with more than a little hesitation. Ever keen, she recognize that pause within his optics, knew that he was loath to order her out on patrol…because the last time she had ventured outside of the confines of the base alone, she had been captured and tortured by Decepticons.

"Perhaps Smokescreen could accompany Bumblebee on patrol this evening, so that our scout can best show him the way." Even as the words left his processor, Optimus could clearly catch the objection that Arcee dared not to voice, but rather allowed to radiate from her very gaze, her very stance as each panel in her slight frame tensed. She stood that way, stiff and anything but relaxed as Bumblebee escorted Smokescreen toward the base's main entrance, the one that gave way to the open road, which snaked around and through Jasper.

He knew the storm that was brewing within Arcee, knew it would not take long to break, so it was that as Bumblebee and Smokescreen's footfalls echoed away into nothingness as they went out into the waiting night, that Optimus was quick to turn towards the path that Bulkhead had taken. It was not that he wished to ignore her, or that he intended to dismiss her concerns or feelings, but rather it was that he recognized the pain that griped Bulkhead was of a far more grave nature, and so must be tended to sooner rather than later.

"I'm not a sparkling, I can take care of myself, "Arcee snapped at Optimus' back as he moved away from them. With care Ratchet reached out, his fingertips brushing against her arm, holding her back with not force of strength but with a silent request. Even still, it could not keep her litany from tumbling out of her, "Megatron isn't always going to be lurking around ever corner, Optimus! And you can't keep me from going out on patrols just because you're afraid that Megatronus could—" Just a simple stumble of syllables, an unconscious slip, but the damage had been done. Arcee fell silent, watched helplessly as Optimus' normally smooth stride faltered, as he winced under the sting of that name.

"Oh Primus…" She breathed, unsure of where that long dreaded name had come from, for it was the last one that she wanted to say, let alone the one she would have wanted to fling at Optimus in such a cruel manner. Even despite her frustration, despite her very real anger, she never intended to hurt him in such a way. Yet, Optimus offered her no defense, no show of answering anger or temper, but rather resumed his pace till he drew alongside Miko, kneeling with ease as he stretched out his hand to her, palm up.

"Miko…"he intoned softly, his expression kind and open. Familiarity whispered through her as Miko turned to look up at him, at the expression behind his optics, so gentle and pained. She had seen that look in his optics before…no, she mentally stumbled, not his optics…_Orion's_. Now, as she had then, she did not hesitate as she moved forward to clamber into his palm. Her fingertips ghosted briefly over the panels of his wrist, panels that once, not so long ago, shone with black and purple. It was comforting to her in a small manner, as she stroked the red and blue colors, content that at least those tones were right. It was true, painfully so, that they were all still struggling to put the pieces of their old life back together, even she could see that, just as easily as she could see Bulkhead's limp…and the darkness that was brewing within him. She shivered then, not from the cool air of the base, but rather from memories that she, and the Autobots alike, would rather put to rest for good. So it was that she looked up, up at him and offered to Optimus the only thing that she could: a smile. Though quiet and small, it was all that she could give to him, the being who had sacrificed so much for her…for all of them. Just as it was the one thing she could do to offer comfort to at least one of the bots…_Oh Bulkhead…._her heart cringed, tears pushing at the backs of her eyes, making them ache, though she refused to let them fall.

"Thanks for the lift, Boss Bot…" Miko murmured quietly as she allowed him to carry her back to where Jack and Raf waited on the raised dais. Flickering his optics in acknowledgment, Optimus waited until she slipped to the floor alongside her human companions before turning his voice toward Arcee and Ratchet.

"Arcee, you must not believe—"

At his attempt to resume the conversation, Arcee couldn't help the flare of her temper from rising anew"—You're being overprotective!" she burst, once again all heat and temper, "I can more than handle myself and you have no right to try and keep me locked away here just because you think I might get hurt!"

So much anger…so much pain…

Optimus shuttered his optics, trying to block out the outraged expression on Arcee's face, to ignore the look of concern that Ratchet could not hide. He would have to bear Arcee's anger, at least for now, and this he would do, silently, patiently. Not because it was what he wanted, but rather because right now Bulkhead needed him…needed someone to be there, to reassure him that his place was not in jeopardy, no one was driving him away_…no one but himself…_Feeling world weary and beaten, Optimus ex-vented heavily—the quiet sound making Miko jump, making her remember, remember all too well the last time she had heard him make such a sound he had been sprawled helplessly on the ground, his energon pooling around him and Starscream standing over him…

The gentle nudge of an elbow, accompanied by the sound of Jack's voice, close and concerned, "You okay, Miko?" She hadn't told him, or Raf much about that day, hadn't wanted to, hadn't been ready then and still wasn't ready now. So, instead she offered him numb and empty words, "Yeah, sure…of course…"

So much anger…so much pain…

Images, memories rattled around in her head…Bulkhead limping away from her, struggling just to walk…Orion lying defenseless, dying at Starscream's feet…why, why did she feel so responsible? As if everything was her fault?

"It is late, Arcee…" Optimus rumbled at last, interrupting her renewed tirade, "Perhaps it would be best if you took Jack home…"

"_Optimus!"_ Arcee snapped, still squaring off, wanting a fight, a battle, a place where she could vent her frustration. But surprisingly, this time it was Jack who diverted that formidable temper of hers. He stretched his arms widely, yawning in an over exaggerated fashion, "Hey 'Cee, I'm pretty beat…do you think you could take me home?" When she hesitated, glaring from first Optimus and then to Jack, the young human decided to sweeten the deal, "What about a quick joy ride? See if we can't break your record?"

"Don't you dare, Arcee!" Ratchet spoke up, "You're still recovering from your injuries and if you so much as over work a single piston, I'll disable your voice-box for a month!"

Yet, Jack had succeeded, had offered her the one thing she couldn't resist, the one thing she needed at the moment: a chance to rebel, if just a little bit. Whatever further threats Ratchet had for Arcee as she scooped Jack up and transformed, Optimus did not hear, his mind already far from where he stood.

Away

Bulkhead was driving himself too hard…expecting too much too fast from his heavily damaged frame.

Away

It was a place where Optimus would not, could not let Bulkhead go…

Away...

But not out of reach, not beyond hope…

No, not away, never away…

A promise, a pledge that Optimus could make, could keep…

_Hear me, old friend…let me bring you back…let me save you as you saved me…_


	2. Decisions and Revisions

**Decisions and Revisions**

"There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions…

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"

…Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

(T.S. Eliot, "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" )

###

He was finished, useless…little more than scrap wielded together…

Even Jackie had run out on him, had literally left the base with less than courteous haste, and all because he didn't want to see, couldn't stand the sight of him…so damaged, so weak…

Gloomy, Bulkhead ambled down the corridor, drawing up short when he found that the hallway came to a dead end, an end capped by a solid and indomitable steel door. Familiarity surged through his spark as he looked upon that moveable wall of metal. Memories danced before his processor for a spark beat as the ghosts of voices filled his audio receptors…

"_Miko! Get away from him!" His optics locked in upon Orion even as his weapons did, "Don't you touch her!" He thundered with the promise of an unspoken threat. _

_Miko turned, sending one last sad smile over her shoulder for Bulkhead, "I'm sorry Bulk!" She cried. Scarcely had the last syllable left her lips, before Miko ran forward reaching wildly toward Orion even as he extend one powerful arm and scooped her up. _

"_Trust me, I will keep you safe." His voice was soothing, close, as in one fluid motion he freed himself from the confines of the doorway and faced the waiting night beyond, "I will protect you…" he promised her, his optics darting to Bulkhead's fast approaching form before he turned and leapt forward, "Trust me as I trust you…" _

_So much unfolded within the space of the moment. _

_Miko's world went black as Orion seemingly shattered apart, folding in on himself, transforming into his terrestrial guise, keeping her sheltered in the eye of the storm of flying metal gears and bits, of shifting panels and plates as they realigned upon impossible seams. It was breathtaking. Sure, Bulkhead had transformed around her before, had held her in his palm as he slid from one form into the next. But Bulkhead's transformation was nothing like Orion's, nothing as fluid, as graceful, as grand as Orion's. Even as his tires hit the hard packed earth with a jolt, as he drove himself hard to put distance between himself and the Autobots, Miko closed her eyes, balanced upon his driver's seat. She felt secure, safe; she felt, above all else, that what she was doing, the choice she had made, was irrefutably right. Orion would need her before the end. _

_But as the release of relief took Miko, Bulkhead's world came to a crashing end. His spark nearly burst as he had watched Orion turn and scoop Miko up. He had taken her, had taken his Miko! _

Even as Bulkhead drew himself out of his reverie, he could not escape that same swelling feeling of helplessness as he stood before that very same door, the door that Orion had carried Miko through…his Miko…

His Miko who had been so ready, so willing to accept the new recruit, to welcome his replacement; he could see it in her expression, in her eyes, how enthusiastic, how interested she was in Smokescreen…how ready she was to abandon him…_And why shouldn't she?_ Bitterness filled him, blistered, threatened to burst at the realization. Why shouldn't Miko look to the new recruit for friendship? Why shouldn't she want to spend more time with a younger bot…a bot that was still healthy, strong, fully functioning…a bot that was not a ruin of what he once was, of what he should be…

As hurt as he was, as betrayed and abandoned as he felt, in the midst of his sorrow, of his frustration, Bulkhead still could not bring himself to be truly angry at Miko, not his Miko. She was still so young, so full of life, so energetic, she needed a guardian who could keep up with her, who could take her out on adventures, to monster truck rallies. Smokescreen could do all those things with her, for her…but Bulkhead…he, he could barely walk down a hallway without needing something to lean on, something to support him.

Weary from his abrupt trek to this outer most corridor of the base, Bulkhead let out a groan as he slowly sank to his knees, wincing as his wounded leg turned awkwardly. "Scrap…" He growled, grinding the gears in his throat together in a harsh sound of frustration and hurt as he reached for his injured leg, trying to straighten it, to lessen the pressure on it, to ease the pain. His fingers gripped the edge of his knee, trying to turn the armor platting to a more comfortable angle, but all for no avail, his knee would not turn, would not budge. "Primus…"Bulkhead swore again as the pressure increased, inciting more discomfort that throbbed with insistent signals of pain.

Roughly, impatiently Bulkhead clawed at his leg with enough force that made his servos whine, nearly made him topple backwards…but something stopped him, held him firm, held him in place, and kept him from falling further. Pausing, Bulkhead turned his head, just a slight movement, but it was enough to see the strong arms that gripped him. One hand grasping firmly upon his left shoulder, the other supporting his right arm, wrist panels of red and blue contrasting unmistakably against the olive green of Bulkhead's arm. Wordlessly, the other mech drew Bulkhead to his feet, supporting his weight long enough for Bulkhead to once more stand up on his own.

"Bulkhead…" The mournful notes rolled toward Bulkhead, inescapable and unable to be ignored, it was with no little reluctance that he acknowledged that velveteen voice.

"Come to ask for my resignation?" Bulkhead couldn't help the resentment from filling him even as he stepped away from his leader, turning just enough to face the Prime even as his memory continued to toy and tease with him, _Optimus…_it whispered…_Orion_…it sighed.

Optimus' timber descended, became bone rattling with conviction, "No," he intoned, "No, my friend..." He stepped towards Bulkhead only to find that the Wreaker shifted away from him, the movement subtle and slight, but undeniable. Hurt reflected in Optimus' optics, but he did not utter a word of dissent, offered no rebuke, did not ask for an explanation; instead, Optimus chose to continue forwards, to walk past Bulkhead. Without hesitation he reached out, placing his palm against the door—familiarity shivered through Bulkhead as he looked on mutely—and pushed, opening it to the waiting night without. He didn't look back at Bulkhead, but rather stepped over the threshold with the clear expectation that the other would follow.

Beyond, the night was surprisingly bright, the moon round as it hung low, stars scattered around it in an infinite number of patterns. Optimus only ventured a handful of long strides away from the door, only far enough so as to put them irrevocably outside of the boundaries of the base. With rasps, Bulkhead limped after, hovering slightly past the threshold before stopping. He wrapped the thick fingers of one hand around the side of the door to balance himself. A wave of helplessness fueled his frustration…his frustration with himself, with the new recruit, with even Miko…and with Optimus…For the second time in over a handful of weeks, Bulkhead found himself at that very same doorway, looking out at Optimus; though of course this time, the red and blue mech was not running from him, was not carrying Miko away from him.

"Bulkhead—"

"There is nothing to talk about, boss bot." His answer was sharp, cutting, just like the spasms of pain that leeched up from his still damaged leg.

"Please, old friend…hear me…"

But the very last thing that Bulkhead was in the mood for was one of Optimus' would be sagacious lectures, " C'mon, Optimus you don't need to give me empty words, just the truth. No trying to make me feel better, to hold out quiet platitudes, just give it to me straight."

Optimus' keen optics narrowed, his expression become harsh, almost severe, "I would never endeavor to give you anything less than the truth, Bulkhead."

"Ok then," Bulkhead huffed, "In that case, it looks like you don't have to waste whatever pep talk you were planning—"

"Bulkhead, please—"

"C'mon, Prime, part of the team or not I'm useless, you know it, I know it, scrap, even the whole team knows it. We need that rookie…you need that rookie…and what you don't need is anybot that is going to slow the team down, that'll be a weak link…you don't need me anymore."

"You could not be father from the truth, my friend."

Bitterness swelled suddenly, rose and burst within Bulkhead's voice, "Yeah, well friend or not we both know you came out here to dismiss me, to send me packing or, worse, confine me permanently to the base. And for what? To play the part of Ratchet's assistant? To—"

_"Enough!" _

The volume of emotion with which that one cutting word was delivered smothered Bulkhead into silence, made him start with surprise. With ease, Optimus stepped up to the green mech, gripped him by both of his shoulders in an effort to not just secure Bulkhead's attention, but to also ease the other mech's pain. Holding him in such a way, Optimus was supporting his weight, easing the strain on Bulkhead's weak leg, "Never could I just dismiss anyone, no more than I could leave a bot behind—" Bulkhead rolled his optics in disbelief, but found his gaze snapping straight back up to Optimus' countenance when the Prime gave him a less than gentle shake, "I know what you sacrificed when you made your choice to follow me and to leave the Wreakers…and for that gift, I am honored Bulkhead, honored as I am in your debt—"

"—So what? You feel duty bound to let me stay? Feeling guilted into keeping me around—"

Optimus' voice surged, amplified, crested over Bulkhead's, "_You are family, Bulkhead, never could I abandon you."_ The sincerity of those words, the conviction and vehemence that drove them, caught Bulkhead off guard just as it lanced his feelings of fear, of doubt, washing away any traces of resentment. In that moment, so sudden, so unexpectedly, Bulkhead felt hollow, completely cleansed of such darker sentiments that had gripped him before. Gone was his insecurity, his all too real fear that Optimus would dismiss him, all vanquished, all faded away slowly just at the sound of the Prime's voice.

"You will heal…you will mend and recover but only if you let yourself do so…and until you do, please Bulkhead, know that my faith in you will never be shaken, will not—"

"—Heeeey, Bulkhead…?"

The tentative tones of the new recruit's voice shattered the moment; burst the feelings of comfort, of security that Optimus had talked into Bulkhead. Falling so easily back into the embrace of resentment, the green mech stepped back, away, out of Optimus' reassuring grasp, only to round on the newest Autobot, "_What do you want, rookie?" _

"I…I just…"cowed, Smokescreen's lighter optics flitted from first Bulkhead and then to the Prime who lingered just paces behind the other, "I…was just hoping to talk with you…tell you that there is no hard feelings and…"

The panels in Bulkhead's frame began to rattle as he clenched his jaw, every note in Smokescreen's voice resounding sour and grating to his audio receptors, "No hard feelings? Who do you think you are, my replacement?"

"Bulkhead—" But Smokescreen let his affronted pride take the reins, let it drown out and over Optimus' deep basso.

"I was just gonna say that I feel honored to temporarily fill your place on the front lines." Smokescreen shrugged his shoulders dismissively, knowing in that moment that his words would go unheard.

"_Fill my place on the front lines!? _ You impertinent sparkling! You—"

_"Smokescreen_." There was no ignoring the command in Optimus' tone now as it rose in volume, loud enough to drown out Bulkhead's tirade, "Come here."

Ever eager to impress, the younger Autobot responded quickly, speeding over to stand directly before the Prime, snapping a salute, "Yes, sir, what is it sir?"

"I am willing to overlook the fact that you should be on patrol with Bumblebee—"

"Oh no, Prime, sir! I didn't ditch patrol duty! I wouldn't disobey your command! Arcee radioed and said that it was her turn to pull a patrol shift, she called Bee and I back to base, said it was an order and that she out ranked the both of us."

Optimus ex-vented, pushing away a growing frustration at Arcee's decision, knowing that now was not the time to address such feelings, though he had every intention of having words with her later. Instead, Optimus took one careful step back from Smokescreen, who looked puzzled and perhaps a little hurt, at the Prime's movement. Knowing that Bulkhead was scrutinizing his every word, his every gesture, Optimus transformed his right hand into a gleaming sword, the weapon unsheathing with a sweet ringing note as it reflected beads of light cast off from the moon with a cold clarity. He let the tip drop, let it hit the earth, and with an easy swing, drew a clean line in the dirt, dividing the space between himself and Smokescreen. Only when he had finished carving the dust, did he sheath his wrist blade, focusing once again upon Smokescreen.

"That you have had success in the field with this team, I will admit and do not deny you credit." Optimus began thoughtfully as he studied the younger bot, who shivered under the unlooked for praise, "Just as your training with Cybertron's Elite Guard does indeed hold merit…" A disgruntled groan from Bulkhead echoed over to Optimus, "But if you are to become a fighting member of this team, you still have much to learn."

Sensing a challenge, Smokescreen squared his shoulders, "Give me any duty, any task, and I'll prove to you I'm ready!"

"I expected nothing less from you, "Optimus dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgement, "So be it…" Calmly, Optimus let his battle mask slide into place, "Here, here is your task. So, come then, Smokescreen, come and face me. All you must do is cross this line I have drawn..."


End file.
